No, that’s for fainting.
Shit. Maybe I should have taken notes. I was only there to meet a requirement; I didn’t expect to need any of the information.
I move around the side of the bed so I can get a better view of him. Nix is lying on the floor, hands over his face, with his legs askew. “What hurts?” I drop to my knees as close to him as I can get. The space back here is tight, with very little room between the bed and the wall. Plus, the stupid chair is in the way. Those dress shoes and that chair were such a bad idea.
“I’m fine. Just got the wind knocked out of me.”
“How many fingers am I holding up?” I hold up three fingers, far enough away from his face that it should be easy enough to see. His glasses are still on. That’s a good sign. Probably.
“I don’t have a concussion.”
“Then tell me how many fingers I’m holding up.”
“Three?”
“Are you asking or telling?” An ambulance. I should call an ambulance to take him to the hospital. I don’t think there’s one in town, so it might be a bit of a drive. Better safe than sorry.
“For fuck’s sake. Just help me up.”
Laughter bubbles up inside me until I’m bent over, gasping for air. It’s the first time I’ve heard Nix use a curse word. Coming from him, on the floor in his bow tie, it’s hilarious.
“Seriously?” Nix isn’t amused, but I can’t help it. “Can you just help me up so we can finish?”
Clearing my throat, I pull myself together and get to my feet. “Here you go, nice and slow.” He grabs my hand and lets me do most of the work getting him to his feet.
“Oh, ouch.” He reaches down to rub his ankle. I know that move. A little too well.
“What’s wrong?”
“My ankle. It’s fine, just a bit sore. I probably twisted it.”
Ankles are tricky. There are too many tendons and muscles, so a lot can go wrong. I rolled mine in my sophomore year of college and ended up missing almost the entire track season. “Sit down for a few minutes.” I nudge him toward the bed, and, to my surprise, he actually follows my directions. “There’s no ice pack up here. If you have one downstairs, I can go get it.” The freezer currently consists of exactly three microwavable dinners and two trays of ice cubes.
“That’s not necessary.”
I give him my best stern look. The whole RICE thing might be bad overall advice, but the cold will help with any swelling.
“I don’t have one in the store. I’ll ice it when I get home.”
“And when’s that?”
“The store closes at eight.”
“That’s in five hours.” Looking around, I try to come up with an alternative solution. I grab the bag that the curtains came in and take it over to the kitchen counter. There’s a full ice tray in the freezer. It’s not a lot, but it’ll make a halfway decent ice pack, at least for the next few minutes.
“Thank you,” Nix says when I return with the bag.
“It’s no problem. Are you sure that’s all you need?”
“It’s fine.”
“Your face is bright red. Did you hit your head on something?” I lean down and run my hand over his forehead, inspecting him for bumps and bruises. People with head injuries don’t always know about them, so I might not be able to trust his judgment.
“Chase,” he barks. “It’s fine. Leave it.”
“Okay.” There’s an edge to his voice that concerns me. Nix is the happy-go-lucky kind, always smiling and cheery. No matter what. He’s either concussed or in a lot of pain. Both are concerning.
“I can come back and finish up the curtains in a little bit.”
